You hope it will come true tomorrow, feels like being left on the shelf.
All our dreams are airy and sweeping away,
And it seems our fairy is sleeping today.
From their promises you borrowed, now you gotta help yourself.
No one that listens when we cry.
We are alone until we die.
Where is a minder coming by?
There is no catcher in the rye.
Life's great at the age of seven, and still easy when you're twelve.
It will change so surely one day overnight,
Turning strange so purely, won't stay ever bright.
Now you're far away from heaven, now you gotta help yourself.